Hooked on a Feeling
by lms2457
Summary: Castle & Beckett see Guardians of the Galaxy. Romance ensues. Set summer between seasons 6 & 7. Vaguely suggests events surrounding the end of last season. No season 7 spoilers. Minor Guardians of the Galaxy spoilers.


**Hooked on a Feeling**

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own it, and they're way more evil than me

**AN:** this story vaguely suggests events surrounding the end of last season. No season 7 spoilers. Minor Guardians of the Galaxy spoilers.

_For my husband. Because he's Castle. _

* * *

That was his kind of movie. Space adventure and rascals and misfits and, yeah okay even the talking raccoon was awesome. (Okay, Groot was the show stealer. Still). But his blood is still humming for a dance from that soundtrack.

He says as much to Kate, because yeah, he needs to download that, and he doesn't want to forget.

"Is it bad that I know most of those from commercials?" she asks with that little half shy grin he usually wants to kiss right off her face. Today though, he stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk and turns to face her fully, his expression scandalized.

That smile erupts into full, head thrown back laughter. "Oh, Castle. Your face right now."

She looks as if she's going to cover her mouth with her hand, but ends up curling her fingers in her lips, staring at him and not really smothering her grin.

"Beckett," he gets out - and okay, he's whining a little, but come on.

"What? I can't help it if I wasn't born -" she breaks off then, like she's being careful of him and he groans, covers his eyes.

Because she's what? Maybe the age as the kid at the start of the movie? A little younger? And this was the character's mother's hit mix. God. Okay, maybe he was young enough that some of the stuff was released before his time, but he remembers it regularly played on the radio. And it wasn't his mother's thing either, because Martha Rogers was all classic showtunes.

"Nothing like music to open up a decade between people, huh?" He shakes his head and starts walking. She stays in step, leans in to nudge his shoulder.

"Hey, look at it this way. So you are ruggedly handsome enough to rob the cradle a little."

So, that makes him preen a little bit, maybe. Because she's young and gorgeous and his and, yeah, okay.

"You think that would work?" he asks, redirecting the subject a bit. "Dance off distraction for an unruly suspect?"

"Don't you dare try it," she says immediately.

"Oh come on, Beckett," he wields, "it's got to be at least as good as showing off your –"

She turns on him, I was flashing and flaps her hand over his mouth. "Don't finish that sentence," she warns.

He grabs her wrist, spins a bit, using her momentum. "Come on," he says, grinning now, as he pulls her into an impromptu dance step. "you don't think this would keep them guessing?"

They are in the middle of the city sidewalk, people flowing around them. But he goes for broke, keeps them moving to the internal beat of music that he strongly suspects is influenced by the movie they've just seen.

"Castle," she starts.

"Kate," he says back, his movements loose and carefree. He spins them, twirling and dipping as he pleases because he has her now, breathless and laughing and god he loves her.

"Castle," she murmurs as he brings her in close, "People are staring."

And most New Yorkers don't care, keep moving on, but yeah, they have a few onlookers. Tourists maybe. But he doesn't care. Because their wedding got derailed and he was - but they're here. They made it. So screw making a scene.

"Let them look," he says back before he kisses her, long and slow, melting against her in the late summer air.

* * *

Someone's cellphone video ends up going viral, added, he supposes by his quasi-fame and all the press ready things they've both endured these last few months.

But it sets of a flurry of chatter about how in love they are, quashes the last of the page six rumors that their interrupted wedding might be off. So that's not all bad.

He ends up sitting down for an interview with Donna from the Ledger, who still crows a bit about having linked them years ago, how her instincts are never wrong.

It's after she's turned the tape recorder that she says, "Your Fiancée must feel like she won the lottery."

He shrugs, smiles easily and goes with the truth. "Actually, I'm pretty sure I did."

The little seemingly off the record exchange becomes the pull quote in a story with a headline that proclaims them New York's great love story.

He's not even sorry.


End file.
